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I Wish I Could Forget

Five years ago today, Hurricane Katrina ravished my homestate of Louisiana. This is one event that I really wished I had not experienced. Cheney and I have reflected over what we were doing 5 years ago today and how Katrina affected our lives.

August 27th: I was shopping in Baton Rouge and stopped at Starbucks for a pick-me-up. The barista asked me what I was doing to prepare for the hurricane that was coming. I was shocked at this question because I had no clue there was one on its way, much less that it was a category 5 and headed for New Orleans. I went ahead and finished up what I was doing and went home. Cheney was playing in a golf tournament that day. Needless to say, neither of us were very concerned.

August 28th: School was cancelled for the next day as a precaution. There was no way out of town even if we tried due to traffic heading out of New Orleans. A normally 45 minute trip took some people 12 hours to get to Baton Rouge. New Orleans was under a mandatory evacuation. We picked up a bit around the yard and hunkered down for the night. We stayed up ALL night watching the news and the latest updates as the storm rolled in to shore.

August 29th: We didn't sleep all night because we were waiting. I was never good at waiting a storm out. Every gust of wind made me think a tornado was headed our way. I finally went to bed early in the morning. We thought things were over, the storm had passed, the levees in New Orleans had held. When we woke up a few hours later, the world had changed and all eyes were on Louisiana and the Gulf Coast.

The rest of the week passed in a blur. Gas stations were out of gas. Grocery stores diverted supplies to areas harder hit so they appeared empty. A very surreal experience to see empty shelves. School was out for the entire week. Thankfully, our house was on the same power grid as the power company, so we only lost power for 2 hours. Others were not so lucky. My parents lost it for a week. The Baton Rouge area swelled to millions due to the influx of people from NO. People were without power, showers, and food. Evacuees were left to their own devices with only the clothes on their back and what they could carry. The shelter that I worked at welcomed a school bus full of people. Donations of clothing, water, baby supplies, and food poured in, phones rang off the hook, and tears flowed freely.

A week later, our schools opened again and welcomed those students who were displaced from the storm. I received 2 students from the Slidell area: Hayleigh and Saxon. They came with nothing. My students' homes had been turned into shelters for extended family. Zachary's family had 20 people staying with them indefinitely. Many students were well adjusted, but Hayleigh was not. Each morning, we peeled her from her mother as she screamed. She couldn't bear to see something else taken away from her. I could not leave my classroom without Hayleigh because she was afraid I would not come back. Each day was an emotional roller coaster that I wish to forget.

And while there was an outpouring of generosity, there was also an outpouring of ungratefulness. We saw people become animals and disrespect the hospitality of shelters and churches in our area. People taking advantage of the generosity of those willing to help. Cheating the system to get more money, not being able to trust your donations were allocated appropriately.

Even today, when I see pictures and hear stories of those moments, they are bittersweet. Thankfully, there was more good than bad, but still, I would love to forget that moment in time.

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I walked down memory lane a bit as I read your post. It is hard to believe it has been five years. Just last weeekend I met a lady at the antique store that told me she was from Bernard Parish. She and her family are still trying to rebuild their lives. She said she went back for a visit a few days before and how hard it was for her to come back here and leave her home and family. She said although people have been good to her it is so different and she doesn't feel at home. The thing that got me the most was that she said when she tells some people she came out of Katrina they respond to her as if she were less than they are. Strange isn't it? How human beings can think they are more than someone else because they may have been spared tragedy in their lives. Yet, it could happen to anyone at anytime. Keep on writing. You inspire me.

I'm living in a house that was purchased in 1960 and had one owner. When we moved in, it was full of a life that was lived.

Since we've moved into it, we have spent hours sorting through vacation souvenirs, family photos, handmade clothes, kitchen supplies, closets full of linens and the likes.

Through this "cleaning" we have noticed how the person who lived here tried her best to keep her home in the best shape possible, even when she wasn't able. Tonight as we cleaned the master bedroom in preparation to rip the carpet up and paint the walls, we discovered mini-blinds that were taped together with kleenex to block the light out and chipped paint held in place from the places it was falling by scotch tape. While it is a nuisance to remove from the walls, the scotch tape struck a chord with me and immediately saddened me upon its sight.

Here was a precious woman holding together something she found precious with scotch tape. It immediately led me to think …

The paintings of Monet have always inspired me - the strokes that appear random upon close inspection of a canvas takes on a different appearance the further away you position yourself from the piece. Slowly images begin to appear and make sense to the observer. The strokes that appeared sloppily orchestrated up close or even appeared as possible mistakes, now create the delicate petals of water lilies on the surface of a pond. Instead of images becoming clearer the closer you step, focus appears as you take in the entire masterpiece.

I've been contemplating the large masterpiece of my life recently. For so long I've been focused on the individual brushstrokes that don't make sense. I can't piece them together. The blues, pinks, and purples that are smeared across the canvas - the heartache, the challenges, the questions, the difficulties - I can't see the entire canvas, yet. But, I know who does. The one who knows the very number of the hairs on my head.